Grissom vs the Dominatrix
by ILoveJorja
Summary: Just what did Grissom see in Lady Heather? Did they have a sexual relationship, or at least an encounter? That's what I'm exploring in this story. GSR, eventually. Rated M. OOC.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: This is my first, and maybe only, Grissom/Lady Heather fic. Frankly I never liked Heather and the episodes in which the sparks flew between them were the ones that made me yell at the TV. I never want to see Sara hurt.

But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered just what Grissom saw in her. There had to be some desire there, some never-fulfilled need or fantasy, that he was able to explore with her. That is what drove me to write this story. GSR. Rated M.

**GRISSOM VS. THE DOMINATRIX**

**CHAPTER ONE**

Grissom would always remember the first time he met Lady Heather. He was immediately intrigued. Her exotic beauty, fiery personality, blatant sexuality, ease in her own skin, intelligence–it all immediately drew him in. Most of all, the way she could read him and discern his innermost thoughts and desires was both attracting and disturbing. Never had he met a woman like her.

Grissom was a private man. Deeply so. Whenever he felt himself judged he soon felt that he was lacking in some way, or that the other person was disappointed or even repelled by him. He had never felt totally accepted for who he was and all the accolades and achievements ultimately felt hollow. And so he hid. He built up a facade of emotionlessness that eventually felt like second nature._ So the fact that Lady Heather regards me as transparent? How does she do that?_

He was working a case when they met and when he first passed through the doors of the Dominion. Lady Heather instantly asked whether he and Brass and Catherine would like to dominate each other or partake of the other services available. Brass was disgusted, Catherine confused but intrigued, Grissom was definitely interested though careful to conceal it. Only his enlarged pupils and quickened breathing betrayed him. Lady Heather noticed and smiled to herself.

One of Heather's employees had been murdered. That was why they were there. Lady Heather was a suspect but Grissom quickly decided that she wasn't a killer. Cath processed the house while Lady Heather led him upstairs to her bedroom. As if in a trance, he followed, disregarding Catherine's odd look. Grissom walked around the room examining it. He picked up sex toys and the tools of a dominatrix's trade. Lady Heather took note of which items he handled or studied with extra attention.

They discussed her profession and Grissom compared it to theater. People donning masks or pretending to be someone else–that was how he regarded it, or said he did. Heather countered by saying that the people who visited needed the release, to explore a dark part of their psyche or sexuality. She thought of herself as a teacher of sorts or a therapist--which gave him more to think about.

They walked through the halls, hearing the screams of submissives, the cracks of whips and scornful abuse by leather-clad bitches of naked cowering men who begged for punishment. Grissom looked at it all, taking it in as a scientist, a criminalist, and one with a lifelong curiosity about anthropology and human behavior. And he couldn't help but wonder what any of it would feel like. How it would make him feel.

Grissom was attracted to Heather sexually as well. Of that there was no doubt. Yet how could he be with Heather if she insisted on being the dominant partner? Reading his mind, Heather explained that the submissive is the one in control. They could always say 'stop'. Their dominant partner was required to instantly do so. _Oh. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, then. But why would I want it anyway_?

Later, when he visited again, he had stood so close to Lady Heather, looked so deeply into her eyes, that he was able to smell her exotic scent and feel the electricity crackling between them. He wanted to kiss her. So badly. And he knew she wanted him to. But something stopped him–the thought of Sara–and instead he made a lame excuse and hurried away. As soon as he got home he masturbated furiously, almost angrily, with her vision in mind. The sound of Heather's voice, how her tight leather corset pushed up her breasts and flattered her legs, her voice, how delicious her lips looked, all sent the thoughts flying through his mind and in a repeating loop.

To kiss those lips or see them wrapped around his cock, god that made him hard. Again and again he became stiff and he lubed and rubbed and stroked until his come shot out. Days went by and Grissom continued the routine. When he was done and could no longer ejaculate he felt sated and worn out but sometimes deeply ashamed.

Gil forgot about Sara when he was jacking off with Heather in his mind. In fact it was the only way he _could_ forget about her. Day and night she was there. In his mind. In his view. In his dreams.

Sara was special. Different. Beautiful, but naturally so. Sexy. Just looking at her aroused him in a way he'd never felt before. Yes, he had masturbated to her image too, more times than he could count. Grissom had spent hours imagining how Sara would feel inside, how tight and wet and warm around his organ. How her lips would taste and feel in his mouth or on his skin. How smooth and soft her skin would be, how enchanting her body. What her throat, her breasts, her pussy would feel and taste like under his tongue. All of it got him stiff. His hand would close around his cock and begin to stroke and rub with practiced and unconscious motions. When he came, fantasizing about Sara, it was almost reverent, the feeling of fulfillment intense. The image of her in orgasm was enough to make him come when he could take no more.

She was the only one he missed in his bed. That was where she belonged, where she deserved to be. He wanted to take care of Sara. Love her. Feel her love in return and earn her trust again. He wanted to pleasure her and make her moan and cry out his name while forgetting her own. Grissom wanted to make love to Sara.

Sara was–dangerous though. She baffled him, attracted him, challenged him, inspired him, and reduced him to a stammering schoolboy. He was struck dumb by her beauty, her brains, her contralto voice and blazing smile. How quickly her mind darted and her words stung or pleased him. All of it made him feel vulnerable and afraid of her power and his need. In short, Sara made him crazy.

Heather would be–easy. Uncomplicated. It would be almost be a business transaction. She would get him off and then he could just leave. Pull up his pants and drive away. No commitment. No words of love exchanged. Grissom didn't want to make love to Heather. He wanted to screw her. Or have her get him off in ways he had never dared imagine.

And Grissom was horny. It had been _years_ since he had been with a woman. Since Sara came into his life again, that was why. He _ached_ for it. Longed for a woman to touch and be touched. And now he had two women to fantasize about. Both incredibly attractive. Both willing. Both wanting him. _God. Why am I so lucky, yet afraid?_

So he jerked off. Sometimes it would be so intense he couldn't wait to get home. So he would go into the locker room and spray his hot come on the wet shower walls. If anyone heard his strokes and moans and the way he cried out a name–_Sara!–Oh, Heather_–they did not mention it. The release helped but the ache remained. Once, only once, had he nearly been caught. He was stroking himself under his desk when Catherine barged in. She gave him a strange look, sniffed the obvious musk of arousal in the air, took note of his flushed face and darting eyes, but, mercifully for once, said nothing. She just filled him in on a case and left.

Grissom tucked his limp cock back into his pants and zipped up as soon as the door closed. He felt like his mother had walked and seen his hand around his thick cock. So he waited until he was home or in private before he masturbated after that. _God. What is wrong with me?_

_I need to...do this. Get this out of my system. I can't do this anymore. Deny myself all pleasures. Deny love. Deny sex. Deny...everything. I need to get laid._

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**GRISSOM VS. THE DOMINATRIX**

**CHAPTER TWO**

Grissom was drawn to Heather, long after he had no crime to investigate at the Dominion, no excuse for seeing her. Like a moth to a flame. A sentient moth, that knew it was wrong, knew it was dangerous, but wanted her anyway. She was intoxication itself.

Every night he would determine to drive straight home. Usually he did. Sometimes he parked on her dark street and lurked there. Hid behind the tinted windows of his SUV. Watched the silent spooky Victorian house instead of relaxing in his well-lit home. Grissom parked his car in the shadows and watched. As soon as he turned off the engine he pushed his pants to his knees and grabbed his dick and pumped hard and fast. As the night turned to creamy white dawn with the promise of another hot desert day he sprayed his creamy white come on the steering wheel.

He imagined what was going on inside. He wondered how it would feel. How he would respond. He wondered what he would request. A single partner? More? Just Heather? Would it repel him? Would the pain turn him on? Would he want to be the dom or the submissive? Could he bottom?

One time he was able to regulate his strokes and climax less urgently. He was close when the door opened and Heather welcomed a client in. Just the glimpse of her, across the street, in the dark, just that, made his hips jerk and his hot come shoot out. It splattered on his clothes, his hands, the dashboard, the steering wheel. Shamefaced, he cleaned it up and resolved never to get ALS near his front seat. _God! I feel like a pervert!_

_Why can't I go in? I told myself I need to get laid. I told myself I need this. I do need it. Why do I hesitate? What, precisely, am I so scared of?_

So one night he stopped at a bar first. Got some liquid courage. It worked. This time, as soon as he parked he got right out, strode up the walk, and knocked firmly. The door opened within seconds. Lady Heather seemed to be expecting him. Waiting for him. She reached out and pulled him inside without a word. When they were seated at the elegant table, sipping tea, she finally spoke.

"Why are you here? For personal or professional reasons?"

"Both," Grissom said smoothly--though his mouth was parched and his heart pounding.

"Your profession or mine?"

"Yours." His eyes were smoldering.

"Good. I had hoped so." Her eyes were full of desire.

"Yes. I'm leaving my profession at the door."

"I'm glad. I thought you might be in need of my services--from the first time we met."

"I am, I think."

"We need to set some ground rules," Heather said.

"Go ahead."

"I'm going to take it slow. Let you feel comfortable at first. The next time..."

"Assuming there is a next time," Grissom said.

"Oh, I have no doubt. You will know it too, after our first session," Heather said smugly.

Grissom nodded, reserving judgement, but knowing deep inside she was right.

"You will be my submissive. Not my slave. I won't be too forceful or hurt you--yet," she purred. "I need to learn about you, what you desire. You need to explore your dark desires too."

"Yes," he agreed.

"And you can always say stop. You are in control."

"Okay."

"Come." Heather stood and took his hand and led him to her bedroom. There she stood by the closed door and watched him. Her demeanor shifted from the outrageous and flirtatious woman he knew to a presence that intimidated him. He wanted to do her bidding, though, and this was a new and exciting feeling. She was in charge in this room.

"Take your clothes off. Slowly," she ordered.

Grissom obeyed. Heather watched.

He stood before her, naked and erect. She lifted her skirt and stroked herself through her panties with an elegant finger. Grissom gripped his penis.

"No," she said harshly. "You don't get to touch yourself. Lie down. On your back. Do not move until I say so."

Grissom lay down.

Heather moved about the bed and tied his arms and legs securely to the bedposts.

"Don't make a sound," she ordered, moving to the foot of the bed, shedding her skirt and panties and stroking herself. Grissom saw her fingers disappear in her sex and emerge glistening. He listened to her moans of self-pleasure. He watched her masturbate and squirmed.

"I said, don't move!" Heather said angrily.

He froze. She spread her legs wider and, standing, fingerfucked herself and brought herself off. He watched in amazement as her fluid trickled down her thighs. _God this is hot._

When she had climaxed again she knelt between his legs and moved over him without touching him, showing him her tight leather-bound cleavage. He yearned to bring his face up to those breasts but she discouraged him with a glare.

Heather fetched a silk scarf and trailed it up his body, up his legs, grazed it lightly across his erection, up his torso, around his nipples. Grissom groaned and thrust up his hips. Heather pushed his pelvis down firmly.

"Do that again and I will hurt you."

Grissom nodded, his eyes wide.

Heather teased him with the silk scarf again, brushing it lightly across his body, the hard aching body that felt every brush of silk with a frantic burst of pleasurable anticipation. He could feel and see the pre-cum leak from his cock. Grissom's muscles stood out, in his neck, his shoulders, his arms, his legs, from the effort to not try and free himself and just fuck her brains out.

Heather smiled. "Good. Good boy," she told him. She wrapped the scarf around the base of his penis and pulled it tight and tied it off. His dick turned dark red, then purple, and the veins stuck out obscenely.

Heather stood up and took the rest of her clothes off. Slowly. She knelt again on the bed between his quivering thighs and brushed his body with her nipples and body. Teasing him. Making him whimper. His hard cock throbbed painfully.

Suddenly she moved down and took him expertly in her mouth. Grissom yelled out. He wanted to come, so badly, he was so close, but the restraining fabric prevented it. Heather sucked and stroked him. She felt him tighten, every sinew, every muscle, and then whipped off the scarf. He burst. Grissom's semen shot into her mouth. Heather swallowed.

She sat back on her heels and watched his face.

"Did you like that?"

"Yes. Oh God yes."

"Do you want to continue?"

"Yes."

"I thought so," she said smoothly. Heather untied him and told him to roll on his stomach.

"Next lesson."

She moved away and he could hear drawers open and close. She knelt across the small of his back. He could feel her wet warm pussy against his skin. His dick swelled again, pressed against the mattress. Heather tied the same silk scarf around his eyes tightly. He could smell himself on it.

She got up and washed his ass, both cheeks, down the crack, letting the rough wet washcloth scrub his skin pink. All his senses were heightened without sight so the sensations washed over him with every stroke. He knew better than to move this time.

"You're learning," Heather told him, and he felt a queer sort of pride.

Something wet and cold caressed his rectum. He flinched, then muttered an apology. Heather slapped him on the ass and chuckled at his yelp. Her finger circled his hole, spreading lube, harder and harder. He felt something cold and stiff inserted inside and his breath caught.

"Relax. It won't hurt if you relax," Heather assured him.

So he tried to. The stiff rubbery thing slid in further. Then it slid out and was dipped in lube and forcefully reinserted. He tensed.

"It's a butt plug," Heather told him. "You may move."

Grissom's hips thrust into the blanket. He groaned and moved as she held the butt plug still. Cautiously he moved back against her hand and oh, God, it hit his prostate. He shamelessly ground his ass back against it, pushing it in as far as it would go. The pleasure was exquisite. Grissom pumped the plug in and out of him and she pushed it in hard, in rhythm.

She pulled it out and he moaned and begged her. Begged her to fuck him again.

"No," she purred. "I don't want to make you bleed. Get up. Hands and knees."

He did so. Heather slipped the butt plug in again and left it. His ass twitched and he tightened around it.

"Eventually," Heather told him, "I will be able to fuck you. Fuck you hard." Grissom bit his lip and nodded, his head bowed.

He heard a jar being opened. He smelled a different scent and heard her hands rubbing together. When they closed around his cock, there was an immediate spreading warmth and as she stroked him it felt hotter. Heather draped her body over his and jacked him off blindly, with both hands. When she told him to, he came all over the sheets, then collapsed on top of it.

"You may rest now. Shall I give you an hour? Or two? Or do you want to spend the night?" she asked.

Grissom groaned. "Wake me in two hours. I'll see then," he told her. "Assuming I can move, I'll go."

Heather chuckled. "I'm glad it was good for you. You are...very responsive."

"Umm," he mumbled into the pillow. She tossed a blanket across his body and he drifted off.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**GRISSOM VS. THE DOMINATRIX**

**CHAPTER THREE**

Heather shook him awake after two hours and regarded him cooly. She handed him a wet towel and he wiped himself off and muttered a thanks, avoiding her eyes.

"Uh. What do I owe you?" he asked clumsily.

"Five thousand dollars," Heather said, looking amused at his shocked face.

"No. This time was not for payment. Only because I have feelings for you."

Now he was even more alarmed. "What...kind...of feelings?" Grissom stammered.

"Oh, relax. I'm not in love with you, or expect you to fall in love with me! I'm attracted to you. I find you...interesting."

"Yes. I'm attracted to you as well, Heather."

"Of course."

"So. Uh. What happens now?"

Heather laughed with scorn. "Now? Now you put your pants on and go home."

"I know, but..."

"But...you want it again."

"Yes," Grissom said reluctantly.

"And you want it to be even more...intense."

He gulped and nodded.

"Then, you come back, for another session. You'll have to reserve it, though."

"I understand. Uh...how much time...?"

"In advance?" Heather's voice trilled with amusement at his expense. "Oh, let's say, eight hours? If I'm available, of course."

"Uh huh."

"The next time will not be free. I'm not running a charity."

"So it would be...five thousand a session," Grissom said slowly, his mind whirling.

"That's the standard rate. If we bring in another participant, or utilize the other rooms or equipment...there will be additional fees."

_Fees? Rooms? Equipment? __Whips and chains? Other participants to hurt and humiliate me? Leather masks? Dog collars? How far do you want this to go, Gilbert?_ _Torture?_

"Very well. I'll, um, be in touch," he said at last, his face confused, hurrying toward the door.

"You will be," Lady Heather answered, in a voice that sent a chill down his back.

It was only when Grissom was driving away that he realized he had still never even kissed Heather.

_Yet I let her...begged her...to do those things to me._ _I let her fuck me. When she said eventually she would be able to fuck me hard–it got me excited. Even _more_ excited. I want her to. _

_What does that say about me? Getting fucked and wanting to be fucked in the ass?_ _Am I a heterosexual? _

_I said I needed to get laid. Does this...? Is this...?_

_I liked being tied down. I liked being dominated. A lot._ _Why?_

_The only abnormal sex is no sex._

'_A perversion,' I called it. __Is it a perversion if I enjoy it? Isn't it hypocritical to think if 'they' do it, it's wrong--if I want to it's okay? Yes._

_Consenting adults...closed doors...to each his own..._

_Sodomite. Faggot. _

_Experimentation. Curious. Bi-curious. Freud's theory of fluid sexual natures..._

_I'm Heather's bitch._

_Two-spirits. Bedarches. Greek warriors._

_What is a freak? What is a pervert? Who decides?_

_David and Jonathan. Jesus never mentioned sexual orientation or behavior. He said, 'Love thy neighbor as thyself. Love God with all your heart.' All the rest...are less important than those two...instructions...laws...injunctions._

_Queer. Sick fucking bastard. Deviant. Abnormal sexual behavior._

_What is normal sex? What is normal...anything?_

"Gil!" Catherine's annoyed voice broke in.

"What!" Grissom said, startled.

"I've been saying your name for five minutes! Do you have our assignments or what?"

"Ah...sign...ments."

"Yes, Gil," she said caustically. "Assignments, remember? Cases, crime scenes, evidence? Ring any bells?

"Ha ha. I'll be in in a minute."

Catherine went out muttering. Grissom gathered his wits and his papers and followed.

And there was Sara, pretty Sara, giving him a nice smile. _Oh, Sara. Why don't you come home with me?_ Grissom stared dumbstruck at her as the others murmured and exchanged looks. She dropped her eyes and her smile and looked confused. Warrick poked him.

"You feeling okay, boss man?"

"I'm fine." Grissom said brusquely. "Okay. Assignments. Slow night. Nick has court in the morning. Catherine, you and Warrick and Greg on a double in Henderson. Sara, you're with me." _Shit! Why did I say that! Now I'm going to be tongue-tied all night. Shit! I'm an idiot!_ _Too late now!_

He was dimly aware that a paper was snatched from his hand. The next thing he knew he was standing in the same position, alone in the room with Sara, who was looking in his face with concern.

"Grissom?"

"Yes, Sara?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"You...and I...have a case?"

"Yes! Of course. Let's go."

"Let's go where?"

"To the crime scene."

"Duh. Is it a DB? A decomp? Do I need any special equipment? Coveralls? What?"

"You tell me," Grissom said desperately, thrusting the slip in her hand. "You drive."

"Uh, sure. Are you _sure_ you're okay?"

"Fine," he snapped. "Just have...a lot on my mind."

"Sorry," Sara muttered.

Grissom then made a painful attempt to be jolly as they drove on. Sara just looked at him oddly and laughed nervously. At the scene, Grissom went to his fallback position and became silent and preoccupied, only barking a response to direct questions. The hours crawled by. Sara looked more and more hurt as the night went on.

Grissom took a look in those dewy sad brown eyes gazing at him and was lost and ashamed.

"I'm sorry, Sara."

"Okay. That's a start. Will you please tell me what's going on?"

"I can't. Why don't we..." Go to dinner.

_No! __She will_ _think I'm making_ _fun of her for asking me out_.

Sara waited a beat, then two._ I can't read your mind, Gris. Help me out here._

_No! Rejection! What can I say to her? Abort!_

"Uh. Finish up here."

"Gosh. What a great idea," Sara said sarcastically. "If you hadn't told me, I might never have left."

Grissom gave her a wan smile and they went back to work.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**GRISSOM VS. THE DOMINATRIX**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Grissom lasted twelve days. Twelve days of battling his desire to go back to the Dominion. Twelve days of being hard on his team, abrupt and dismissive to Sara, then hating himself afterwards. On the twelfth day he picked up the phone.

"Lady Heather's Dominion. Lady Heather speaking."

"It's Grissom."

"Oh! Hello, Grissom."

"I need to see you," he said gruffly.

"I'll be free...in about two hours. Would you..."

"I'll be there," said Grissom, and hung up.

Again he was ushered in and led to the table with the elaborate tea set. Grissom stood, his face cold and dark. Heather noted his impatience.

"You don't have much time, do you," she stated.

"No," he said shortly.

"Then follow me." Heather lifted her skirts and led him upstairs to her private rooms and closed the door.

"Take your clothes off and sit on the bed," she said. He obeyed.

"What do you want?" Heather demanded.

"I want..."

"What do you want?" she repeated impatiently.

"I want...you," he said.

"Clearly," Heather smirked at his arousal. "But what do you want me to do?"

"To get me off," he said roughly. "To..."

"Say it," Heather demanded. "Say it, or you won't get it."

"I want you to fuck me," he growled.

"Good. Hands and knees. Facing away." Grissom complied. He heard rustling as she disrobed. He waited.

This time there were no restraints. No blindfold. Heather cleaned him roughly and pinched and smacked him as she did. Grissom squirmed but kept silent as best he could. He gasped when grabbed his hair and pulled his head back then thrust a bigger cold hard plug in him.

"Does it hurt?"

"No...ah!...yes."

"Do you like it?" she asked brusquely.

Grissom moved back and ground into her hand in response. Heather yanked it out and he whimpered.

"On your back," she ordered. "Look at me." Grissom flopped to his back. Heather was in her dominatrix regalia, all tight and black, her dark curls framed in a V, garters and stockings and boots–she looked like a wet dream. Grissom's nostrils flared and his eyes darkened and he got harder.

Heather reached down and pulled out a long dark dildo. Grissom's eyes widened at its size and she smirked at him.

"Do you still want me to fuck you?"

"Uh..."

"Do you?"

"Yes..."

"Say it," Heather demanded.

"Fuck me."

Heather smeared the head with a bit of lube and pushed it roughly inside him. Grissom sucked in a breath and tensed.

"Relax. It will rip you up if you don't relax. And that is one embarrassing trip to the ER."

Grissom willed himself to relax. He pulled his knees up and spread his legs even further at her instructions. He watched the black rubber thing pushing into his tight ass. The cold hard rubber warmed a little as it slid in and out. A little deeper each time. He moaned in rhythm.

Heather teasingly grazed over his prostate, then pulled the dildo out more.

"Beg for it."

"Oh. Oh God. Fuck me. Please. Fuck me..deeper."

Heather pushed it in roughly and stroked its thick head across the perfect spot. Grissom was crying out, begging, jerking his hips, so close...Heather pulled it out.

Before he could move or say anything, she was straddled across him and poised over his aching dick. Grissom automatically moved his hands to her hips and pulled her down. Heather reacted, grabbing him by the wrists and pinning him to the bed.

"I'm in charge here," she hissed.

Grissom nodded dumbly.

Heather moved up until her sex was just over his face. He licked his lips and ached to bury his mouth in her, but held back and breathed in the scent of her. She handcuffed his hands tightly behind his head. Heather retrieved a condom and sheathed him efficiently.

Slowly, tantalizingly, she lowered herself and let his erection slide through her folds, slicking it up for her. Heather maneuvered until he was lined up and then lowered her hips until he filled her. They both groaned. Heather rested on him, impaled, and watched his expressions shift. When he tried to move she pinched his left nipple, making him wince and curse.

Again she fetched something from her bag of tricks and held it behind her leg. She pumped on him slowly, teasingly, and when his hips jerked she whipped out an alligator clamp and tightened it on his reddened nipple. Grissom cried out in pain and tears leaked from his eyes.

"Don't come until I tell you."

His face contorted, Grissom nodded.

Now she suddenly started riding him hard. The teeth of the clamp bit into his skin and blood trickled down Grissom's chest. The pleasure around his cock competed with the pain. Heather bounced atop his erection, then swooped down, removed the alligator clamp, and sucked his nipple into her mouth. Gil screamed as the pain instantly turned to a rush of pleasure.

"Now," Heather hissed. His body spasmed and he shot out come so hard it was like a kick to the belly.

Heather jumped off and uncuffed his hands. Grissom pulled them down and rubbed his wrists. _Ligature marks._ He examined the bloody nipple, wincing even before he touched it. _God that hurts!_

Lady Heather saw and leaned over him and puffed a breath, which both cooled and aggravated it.

"It makes a pain button. The slightest touch sends a flood of endorphins in the brain,"

she explained.

"Pain, yes," Grissom muttered.

"Too much?"

"Yes. Yes, dammit." He felt between his legs and his fingers emerged with a smear of blood. Grissom held it up accusingly.

"I thought you weren't going to make me bleed."

"I thought so too," Lady Heather stammered. "I...went too far. I'm sorry."

"I have to work, you know. Around trained investigators. Think they won't notice the double rails of handcuffs on my wrists? That I can't sit down? That I wince every time my shirt brushes across my chest?"

"You're right. Wait here."

She reappeared in minutes with a first aid kit and a bag of ice. Gently she held one ice cube after another to his scraped red nipple until it cooled and paled and the swelling went down. She cleaned and disinfected it carefully and bandaged it snugly. Grissom rubbed more ice around his wrists until the cubes melted.

"Lie back, knees apart." Grissom started to object.

"No. Please. I need to examine you." He thawed slightly at her look and voice of concern. Heather probed delicately and cooled him with ice until she determined the bleeding was superficial and had stopped, then prepared a warm bath of Epsom salts for him. Grissom felt foolish sitting in it and told her so.

"I really am sorry, Grissom. Is it any better?"

"Yeah. I guess so," he muttered.

"Why didn't you say stop?" Heather asked mildly.

"I...I don't know," he said wonderingly. "It didn't occur to me."

"Because you wanted to see how far it would go? How much you could take, perhaps?"

"Perhaps."

"Can I make you feel better?"

"What do you have in mind?" he asked cautiously.

"To make love to you. Without pain. Only pleasure." Grissom quirked an eyebrow.

"Only _your_ pleasure," Heather amended.

Grissom smirked and let her lie him down on the bed and make love to his body with her mouth, sucking and licking and letting him have his release when he wanted it. He lay passively and soaked up the comfort and pleasure.

When he had come in her mouth Heather kissed the tip and rolled to face away. Grissom turned and draped an arm over her.

"Do you forgive me?" Heather asked, her voice quavering.

"Yes. I let it go too far as well. And yes, it hurt, but it also felt...amazing. Intense."

She turned her head and gave him a smile. "Good."

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

A/N Sorry for the long delay. My computer got fried by a power surge and it took over three weeks to get it back. Luckily the hard drive is okay, but still...it was frustrating, to say the least. This story has since gone in a new direction. As always I have to let it lead.

**GRISSOM VS. THE DOMINATRIX**

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Heather opened the heavy wood door and regarded him cooly. "Grissom. I wasn't expecting you."

"I know. I should have called. I didn't know I was coming."

"Then what are you doing here?"

Grissom tilted his head to the side, his eyes pleading. Heather led him inside.

As the bedroom door closed he paused.

"Wait," Gris urged. He reached out and pulled her by the hand and kissed her for the very first time. Her mouth was soft. Warm. He could feel the chemistry between them. But no love. He pulled away and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, his eyes wide in confusion.

"Did you like that?" Heather asked, curious. He could tell she didn't feel anything either.

"Yes, but..."

"But you don't love me. I'm not the one you love."

"No," Grissom said honestly. "You're not. But I...want you."

"I want you too. But I don't love you either," she said, her voice bitter. His eyes flicked up to her and then back to the carpet.

"So you're here because you can't or won't be with...your girlfriend. Did you have a fight?"

"She's not my girlfriend. We didn't exactly have a fight."

"Then...what?"

"When I see her..." Grissom paused and quoted, his eyes distant: _"When we've been apart, and I'm looking forward to seeing you, every thought is burnt up in a great flame. But then you come, and you're so much more than I remembered, and what I want of you is so much more than an hour or two every now and then, with wastes of thirsty waiting in between, that I can sit perfectly still beside you, like this, just quietly trusting it to come true."_

"Who is that?"

"Edith Wharton. The Age of Innocence."

"Ah. A tragic love story. There was a movie–with Daniel Day Lewis?"

"Yes, that's it."

"I seem to remember the hero was unhappily married. An arranged marriage?"

Grissom nodded and took over the story. "He fell in love with a beautiful young woman who was in disgrace because she was divorced. Shunned by all, friends and family. But-- he felt bound and compelled by society to remain faithful to his wife. And he struggled to repress his feelings for the divorceè..."

"Even though she clearly felt the same. And was in love with him," Heather continued, her eyes showing puzzlement. "He cut all ties to her. When he was an old man he tracked down this great love of his life and sat alone beneath her apartment, but couldn't get up the nerve to even go up and see her. Is that how you see your life?"

"Not exactly."

"I don't understand. You aren't married."

"No."

"Is she?"

"No."

"And I'm guessing she wants more that to wait for 'it' to come true? More than just to sit quietly alongside you?" Heather asked sarcastically.

"She does. And so do I."

"You love her? She loves you? You desire each other?" Her eyes were angry and dark and he could not look away for once.

"Yes."

"You love each other. You desire each other. What's stopping you?" Now her voice was rising in disbelief.

Grissom tried to speak but his mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

"What is it? Tell me." Heather's voice was less harsh but still demanding.

"I...I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of losing myself in her. Of giving her my heart to break if she chooses."

"So it's better to break her heart instead?" she said acidly.

"No! I...I don't want to hurt her. But...I do."

"And?" Heather urged.

"I...I've repressed any and all emotion for so long that..."

"You think you don't know how to love?"

Grissom could only look at her, his eyes vulnerable.

Heather sighed deeply. "Gil." His eyes widened at the use of his first name but she went on. "Everyone knows how to love. And fall in love. That's why they call it falling. You just jump out there, give in to it, and if you get hurt when you land, than at least you have tried. If you don't try," she reached for his hand, "it will kill you inside. You'll end up bitter and angry and sad."

"And lonely." Gil pulled his hand away.

"Yes. Lonely." Heather walked back and forth. "We all are, at one time or another. Is she lonely?"

"Very."

"So you're denying her what you're denying yourself."

"I suppose."

"No. You know you are. So...this story. You see yourself as the hero, who loves and desires and wants someone who loves him deeply, but pushes her away instead. He does what a repressive society insists he do, stay with a wife out of obligation and convention, even though he does not love her. The wife is sweet and simple and trusting. The temptress is vulnerable and needs him too, as she has no one else, and he feels sorry for her. He ends up hurting both women, but mostly the temptress."

"Yes."

"So...I'm divorced...so I'm the temptress?"

"I think so." Grissom stood and looked out the window. "Yes. But it's not the same situation. I'm not married to you or anyone–but I guess you could say I'm married to my work. I'm not obligated to you. I just want sex from you. You tempted me and I gave in to my base desires and let...that...happen. I hate that I betrayed the one I love. I feel guilty. I am guilty. I hate that I hurt her. I hate myself."

"So you want to be punished, then." Heather sighed. "You want me to hurt you because this is what I do. Because I'm a dominatrix."

Grissom bit his lip and nodded guiltily.

"Can you take it?"

"I think so."

"Ask for it."

"Punish me, Lady Heather. Hurt me. I deserve it."

Her voice was hard. "Enough. Get your clothes off. I'll be back."

Grissom took off his clothes and folded them in a pile. He sat on the bed, his hands covering himself. Heather strode back in with a long thin cane in her hand. He eyed it nervously. Harshly, she ordered him to stand at the foot of the bed. He did. Heather looped leather straps around his wrists and tied his hands to the bedposts.

"Now," Heather said. "You're going to tell me why you're here."

"You know why I'm here," Grissom said. _Smack!_ A hard blow across his buttocks.

"I do, but you don't," Heather said. "Why are you here?"

"Because I want you." _Smack!_ He flinched and pulled on the restraints.

"You are here because I'm a dominatrix, am I right?"

"Uh..."

"Am I right?" _Smack!_

"Yes! You're right, Lady Heather."

"Okay. Now we're getting somewhere. Why are you here and not with the woman you love?"

"I...I don't know."

"Bullshit. Why...are...you..._here,_ Grissom."

"I want to...fuck." He spat out the words, tasting bile in his mouth.

"But not make love." Her voice was laced with disappointment and disapproval. He felt it.

"No." A whimper.

"No more hiding. Tell me the truth or it will really hurt," she threatened.

"I want...someone else," Grissom muttered.

"Better. Who is she?"

"Sara Sidle."

"Do you love this Sara?"

"Yes."

"Are you in love with her?" When he paused the cane whistled and cut.

"ARE YOU IN LOVE WITH SARA?" Heather yelled at him.

"YES! Yes! I am!!"

"Why? What is it about Sara?"

"She's...beautiful. Smart. Kind. Forgiving. Brilliant. When she..." Heather waited. "When she brushes against me, I feel..."

"What?"

"Electricity. Passion. Elation. Joy."

"And we both know that only happens when the other feels the same, right?"

"Right."

"Is she in love with you?"

"I...think so..." The cane bit into his legs.

"You know it. Say it!" _Smack!_

"Sara's in love with me!"

"So, what? Are you gay?"

"NO!"

"But you liked getting fucked in the ass."

"I did," Grissom said, humiliated.

"I know. I felt it. It was...an experiment. That's what scientists do, isn't it," she demanded scornfully. "Experiment?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"So, you were using me?"

"I...yes, I was. I'm sorry."

"Sorry is just a word."

"I...don't know what else to say."

"Yeah. You're a sorry excuse for a man. You're sorry that someone is telling you what you already know."

Grissom was silent.

"I can read you. You try to hide but it only makes you more transparent. And I could feel how much you enjoyed it–but you were thinking about someone else."

"Yes. I did," Grissom admitted. "I was using you."

"So you want to make love to Sara. Not get fucked by me."

"Yes, Lady Heather."

"Good. Be honest. What do you want from Sara?"

"I...want a relationship. I want...I want to be with her."

"And she knows this? You flirt?"

"Yes. We do." _Crack!_

"And then what?"

"Then I...OW!!"

"Are you good to her?"

"No! I'm rude...thoughtless...cruel."

"Is she good to you?"

"Y...yes. Very good to me."

"Is she in love with you?" When he hesitated, Heather hit him.

"Yes. Sara is in love with me." Grissom's voice was low and full of shame. The blows stopped briefly.

"Sara loves me. Sara is in love with me." Grissom was sobbing.

"Say it! Say you're in love with Sara!"

"I'm in love with Sara Sidle!"

"Was that so hard?"

"Yes. No! I don't know!" _Whack_!

"You want me to hurt you. Dominate you. You want me to punish you," Heather reminded. "Tell me about Sara. Now."

"I asked her to come to Vegas. I've been in love with her since we met, six years ago."

"Six years?" Heather said incredulously. "You've been in love with Sara for six damn years?"

"Ouch! Yes."

"Have you ever_ told_ her?"

"Ow! Ouch! No!"

_Crack! _"You've never gone on a date? You've never even asked her out?"

"No." _Whack!_

"Kissed her?"

"No!" _Smack!_

"Then why are you here?"

"I...I can't...I can't be with her!" There was a whistling noise and a sharp pain across his buttocks. Grissom gasped then yelled in pain.

"Why are you here and not with Sara?" Heather demanded. Grissom thought desperately.

"She's too young for me." The cane struck the back of his legs.

"That's a stupid reason," Heather said. "Why?"

"She's...too beautiful. Too good for me."

Heather laughed coldly and hit him again, harder. "That's even stupider."

"I'm her boss," Grissom told her. His eyes filled with tears, from the pain and from the shame.

"So?" Another blow.

"So, she could get fired. It could ruin her career. I...I don't want to hurt her."

"Aren't you hurting her by withholding your love?" There was a pause, and Heather struck him hard to get an answer.

"Yes! Yes! I'm hurting Sara!"

"Are you breaking her heart?"

_Crack!_ "Yes!"

"Do you deserve to be punished?"

"Yes! Ouch!"

"All right. Tell me why you deserve to be punished." With every heaving breath, Grissom choked out a memory. The gates opened and every hurtful thing he'd said or done or not said or not done came out in a jumble. Heather moved to the head of the bed to face him and listened, flexing the cane between her hands. The almost promotion, how he worked her ragged, the DUI, the time she wanted to quit and he told her, _The lab needs you_, instead of telling her the truth: _I need you Sara. Don't leave me--I love you. I'd be lost without you. _He told Heather of the rare times she had broken down in tears, and that she told him of her abusive childhood and the murder of her father and he could only hold her hand. How every kind and affectionate word caught in his throat when she looked at him. How her sweet voice made him mute. How the burning desire to hold her in his arms instead made him freeze. Heather sighed in disappointment and listened.

When Grissom told Heather that he punished her when he found out she was dating someone else she slapped him so hard he screamed.

"You bastard! You keep stringing her along! You don't let yourself love her, but she can't be with anyone else??"

"Yes. I do that! I...."

"Why?"

"I don't know!"

"You're hurting Sara by being here! You can get fucked but she can't go on a date?? You know this! You come to me to fuck and get fucked and then go home. Would you want her to find out?"

"NO! Never! She would hate me!"

"Do you hate yourself for coming here?"

"Yes! I feel...dirty."

"Oh, you are dirty, all right. You deserve this." _Smack!_ "And she puts up with your bullshit?"

"Yes! Ow! She always forgives me...God help me!"

"God can't help you here. What else?"

"There was an explosion. At the lab. Sara was injured."

"What did you do?"

"Her hand was cut. Bleeding. She was in shock. I got a paramedic."

Again the beating stopped briefly. "Did you go with her?"

"No. I went back to work. So did she. The same day."

"And then what happened?"

"She asked me to dinner. I said...No." The cane whistled through the air. This time he could feel blood trickle down his thigh and he yelled out.

"She could have died! You said 'No!?' How could you do that? How could you hurt her like that!"

"I thought it was just the adrenaline, of her having been blown up and thrown against the wall. I was about to schedule my ear surgery...Ow!...and all I could think was I didn't want her to pity me or see me as flawed--unworthy. OW!"

"Did you tell her about your hearing loss?"

"No."

Heather stopped. She stared into his eyes with repulsion. His eyes filled with tears and ran down his face. Heather untied him. She grabbed a towel and threw it at his head and he wiped his eyes and cheeks.. Heather snatched it and swiped it roughly across the angry welts and cuts across his ass and thighs. He gasped and whimpered and flinched and hung his head.

"Jesus, you really are an asshole, Grissom."

"Yeah. I am."

"Get out."

"But you...but we..."

"Get out! I'm disgusted with you. I thought you were an honorable man." When he hung his head in silence she continued. "Feel each wound. Let them remind you of the wounds you have inflicted on Sara's heart. You're a Catholic, am I right?"

"Yes. I was raised Catholic."

"So you've given your confession. You've been scourged. Done penance. Go and sin no more." The door slammed and Grissom was alone.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**GRISSOM VS. THE DOMINATRIX**

**CHAPTER SIX**

"Go and sin no more."

Grissom washed and put his clothes on carefully, wincing and cursing and whining when blood stuck to fabric. He wrote out the check for $5000 and left it on the bedside table. Ashamed and in pain, he crept out of the house and drove home to lick his wounds.

That night he didn't go into work. It hurt too much to move. Sitting or standing or walking was agony. Again and again he cleaned his wounds gingerly. He smeared himself with ointments and took painkillers and lay on his stomach on the bed, thinking. Thinking about what Heather had said. _Feel each wound. Let them remind you of the wounds you have inflicted on Sara's heart_. _ Heather's right._ With her new insight, he could examine himself and look inward.

The next night he called off again. He made sure to just talk to Judy, the receptionist, as he knew she would just take the message without question. With this strange free time Grissom became introspective. He thought about what kind of man he had become, and why. _Is it the work? Feeling disconnected–unemotional–so it won't interfere with the case? Always examine the evidence objectively, without feelings or prejudice..._ _maybe that's it. Has that seeped into my personality–my soul, even? Twisted it?_ _Yeah. Yes. It has. Am I really a robot, a heartless machine? No, because my heart hurts...I do feel pain...I do love. Can I look at yet another dead body? Process another murdered innocent?_ _Yes. You must. It is what you are. What you do. But it doesn't have to_ _be _who _you are._

"You may not believe in God, sir, but you do his work." Every story, every case, robbed him a little more of his faith in humanity, his faith in God. _So I protected myself by pretending to feel nothing, until I did feel nothing._ _If you repeat a lie often enough you start to believe it._

The hours slipped away in a haze of insomnia and narcotics. _I never wanted to be judged. But I wasn't judging myself, how I was behaving, how my words made them feel. I judged everyone else. I ignored them, dismissed their emotions, scoffed at them, as I expected them to just close it all away like I could. I wasn't recognizing how hateful I was being. How much I hurt Sara. Can she forgive me again? Has she given up? Can I ever make it up to her?_

_By the time you figure it out, Grissom, it might be too late, _echoed repeatedly in his head.

_Am I too late? _

_Now that I know, now I can change. __Not tomorrow, not next week, not just in my head. Now is all we have. A moment, and then it is gone. If I don't change now I never will. And I'll go to my grave with a heart full of regret. If I lose her, after all this...I'll never have lived, at all._ "This above all, to thine ownself be true."

He wanted to look forward to seeing Sara. He wanted to be honest. To prepare himself and rehearse the lines he had to say. He wanted to be who he used to be. Grissom tried in his head to purge the guilt and the shame; release it, let it go. When that didn't work he talked to himself and told the walls his regrets and sorrows. He talked until his throat protested. He told the room about all those cases, the ones that made him bleed inside, the people who disgusted him, their pathetic motives and petty reasons for hurting and killing each other, what he had done and not done and how it never seemed to make a difference, but that he had to do it anyway. Eventually the weight lifted from his heart. He felt giddy and laughed at himself.

Grissom took a third night off. He wanted to savor this new feeling and plan how to move forward. Catherine was furious, but he didn't even pretend to listen. He didn't bother with an excuse. He just hung up when she started to yell at him.

The home phone rang. Grissom cursed it. _Hey. I thought you were going to change. Face up to it. _ It rang again.

"Grissom." He spoke into it resignedly.

"Gris? Are you okay?" Grissom sucked in a breath at that familiar voice.

"Sara?"

"It's me." Grissom had a flashback to her first day in Las Vegas. How he recognized her musical voice and felt the mutual eagerness of their reunion.

"Hey! Sara! I was just thinking about you," Grissom said eagerly.

"You were?" Sara's voice was incredulous.

"I was. I was thinking about...us."

There was a long silence. "I didn't know there was an 'us' anymore, Gris." Sara's voice was shy and sad.

His heart plummeted. "Oh, Sara. Can there be?"

With great caution, Sara asked, "Are you feeling all right?"

"No, Sara. I haven't felt all right for a long time."

Now she shifted into a tone of worry. "Catherine said...you haven't been at work for three nights...are you sick?"

"No. Not in that way. I..."

"Yes?" Grissom heard urgent voices in the background.

"I need to...I'm so sorry," he said humbly.

"Sorry? You're sorry...about us?"

"I mean I'm sorry for not being there for you and how I've behaved for how I've treated you," he said in a rush. He could almost see her eyebrows knit in confusion. Somebody was asking her a question.

"Oh." Another pause. "Uh. I can't talk now. I'm going back to a scene and then help Nick at his. Cath is cursing a blue streak. She's barricaded herself in the lab behind mountains of evidence and is barking out orders..."

"I'm sorry. I'm letting you all down."

"Grissom. You're worrying me. I've never heard you like this."

He chuckled. "I've never been like this."

"You're not...taking anything, are you? You sound loopy. Are you on..."

"Drugs?" Now he laughed. "No. Well, just some painkillers."

"Whoa. What happened?"

"I can't explain...I need to see you."

"I can't get away now! Dammit, Gris." Sara blew out a breath. Her voice rose in frustration. "You blow me off and then expect me to work like a servant, show up whenever and wherever you want, and now you want me to drop everything? Leave us even more shorthanded? Because you feel guilty? Just because you say_ Sorry_?"

"You're right, Sara."

"Argghh! You're infuriating. I gotta go." The line went dead.

**TBC**

**A/N:** This chapter is dedicated to BillyJorja, Nonnie88, TakingAChanceOnJelly, and ; talented writers all. They kept after me and asked where I've been, where my new chapters are...And to all who kept reviewing... and have forgiven this long period of distraction and delay. Your words mean so much.


	7. Chapter 7

**GRISSOM VS. THE DOMINATRIX**

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Grissom stared dumbly at the phone in his hand, registering the dial tone that seemed to mock him. _She's right. It's going to take a lot more than an apology._ _Now what? Go see her. Go to work. Enough of hiding at home_.

Grissom showered and dressed, taking extra time to appear professional and steady his nerves. He drove to the lab and strode quickly down the halls, looking in each room. None of his team was present, but for Catherine, who, as Sara had said, was nearly hidden behind piles and boxes of evidence in the layout room.

"Catherine," he said calmly, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

"Well, well. Look who decided to show up," she sneered. "Thought you were _sick. _What the hell, Gil."

Grissom tried to deflect and ignore. "What's the case? What do we know?"

"Oh no, you don't. I deserve an explanation, at least," she demanded.

He raised his eyebrows and regarded her.

"You look healthy to me! And I've known you to drag yourself to work when you were at death's door! _Where were you?_"

"I needed some...personal time." He turned his back and looked over the crime scene photos along the wall.

"_Personal time_," she spat. "Must be nice..."

"You have been known to abruptly leave a crime scene for personal reasons, you know," Grissom said mildly.

Catherine couldn't dispute that so she trailed off, seething, with one last shot.

"If I was your boss, I'd fire you. Suspend you, at the very least."

"Point taken. Good thing you'll never be my boss. Now...how can I help?"

"I'll deal with this," she muttered. "I'm sure the others could use help at their scenes."

"I'm here now. And I know it will go faster with the two of us."

They set to work, and Catherine thawed a little more and then more as they spoke only of the case and not the source of her irritation. Hours passed. A familiar voice from down the hall made Gil's head jerk up. He practically leapt to the door and looked in that direction. Catherine's eyebrows knit together at his odd behavior.

Sara, grimy, her hair tied back tightly, and clad in baggy blue coveralls, was walking toward them, in conversation with Nick. As she got closer, she glanced forward and spotted her supervisor in the doorway, dumbly gaping at her. Her eyes narrowed in irritation as she gave him a quick dismissive up and down glance, then brushed by to address only Catherine.

"Hey. I think our cases might be related. Be right back," she called, then walked away.

Nick halted a moment and acknowledged Grissom. "Thought you were off, sick?"

"He was taking some _personal time_," Catherine told him sarcastically, and the three snickered. Nick followed Sara into the locker room. Grissom pouted a little, feeling ganged up on. _Can't a man take a day or two off?_

Before long, Sara and Nick returned and they each chose a side of the table. Sara efficiently explained the similarities of her case to Catherine's as the others nodded and listened.

Grissom removed his gloves to flip through a file, looking for a particular page. Catherine gasped and grabbed his wrist.

"What the hell is this?" she demanded loudly. "Ligature marks...Handcuffs?"

Nick, Catherine, and Sara all stared at his wrist, then up at his face. Catherine reached for his other hand and he jerked it away. But Sara grabbed it firmly and pushed up his cuff.

Each woman tightly gripped an arm. They all stared at the mark of handcuffs on his wrists. No one spoke for a full minute.

"So." Cath spoke at last. "Care to explain?"

"No," he said quickly.

"Okay. We all know how to interpret evidence, right, guys? I think we would have been told if you'd been arrested...not to mention you'd never work in law enforcement again...so..."

"Catherine..." he said warningly, "don't finish that thought."

"Ha! Why not, may I ask? Because you've been exposed? As someone who enjoys...sweet mother of God..."

"What?" Nick asked, confused.

"Enjoys...being dominated. Restrained, during sex...My god, Gil, you've been with Lady Heather!"

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**GRISSOM VS. THE DOMINATRIX**

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

_Busted! Shit shit shit! DAMN you, Catherine._ _Now what? _Grissom thought frantically.

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

Grissom pulled his hands back and folded his arms. He dared a quick look in the faces of his coworkers, dreading but needing to know their reactions. Catherine looked smug. Very pleased with herself. Nick looked baffled and repulsed. And Sara..._oh, God, Sara...I never wanted you to know_...looked disgusted. And as if a piece a puzzle had fallen into place as well.

He could see their minds working, imagining the activities he had participated in, as reactions flicked across their faces. Since he_ had_ done many of those things, he couldn't summon a coherent sentence.

Nick spoke first, looking at him carefully. "Heather...is a murder suspect, Gris."

"Suspect, Nick. Not a murderer."

"So you _did _have sex with her," Catherine said quickly.

"I didn't say that," Grissom said quickly.

"You didn't deny it either. Omission is as good as confession. Well, well. The great Gil Grissom. Who leads a blameless life. Who never _goes out_..."

"I never claimed to be perfect..."

"Because we live in a fishbowl," Willows finished her thought. "Is a pervert. Who knew?"

"My personal life is none of your business!" Grissom yelled angrily. "Not up for discussion! This is a place of business! I suggest we get back to work," he spat, "and leave the insults and innuendo out of our conversation. Now!" His fist banged on the table and the others jumped.

"I...I'll be in the AV lab," Nick blurted. He rushed out.

"So much for holier than thou..." Catherine started to say.

"Catherine! That's enough, dammit. I'm still your supervisor. Insubordination and disrespect...be careful what you say. Or face the consequences."

"Whatever. I'm going to check with Hodges." She strode out.

Sara hadn't moved. Hadn't made a sound.

"Sara?" he said desperately.

"Yeah?" she seemed dazed.

"Sara, I..." he trailed off, completely at a loss.

"So _that's_ why," Sara said slowly.

"Why what?"

"Why you wouldn't date me. Because I'm not...into that...shit. Because I'm not...a whore. A high class one, but still a whore." She left as well.

Grissom covered his face with his hands.

The rest of the shift was strained. Word spread before Grissom had even left the room, and everyone gave him strange looks or became awkwardly silent when he entered. Greg played the Rolling Stones_ When the whip comes down_ on his amplified iPod and he heard some snickering, but the music was turned off and everyone dispersed by the time he tracked it down. At last he retreated to his office and did paperwork, then went home the moment shift was over.

The next night, Grissom walked into his office as usual. There, in the center of his desk, was a large, black, studded leather dog collar.

He sank into his chair and pondered on how to respond. Within minutes, an idea came to him. Grissom got out his kit and dusted the leather for prints. When two clear ones emerged, he smiled grimly, tape-lifted them, took them to Mandy, and, as politely as ever, asked her to run them against those of the department. She gave him a puzzled look but followed his orders without question.

"Thank you," Grissom said quietly, and walked to the breakroom.

"Catherine. My office. Now." He strode out.

Catherine smirked at Warrick and followed.

The sound of raised voices penetrated Grissom's door. Everyone became abnormally silent and listened attentively to the audible scraps. "Fingerprints...juvenile...public knowledge...childish, spiteful behavior...private life...you're a hypocrite...will not be tolerated...jackass...go home, Catherine."

The door banged open and slammed shut. Catherine's heels clicked loudly as she stalked out to the locker room and then the parking lot, without a word to anyone. Her tires screeched as she pulled out.

Grissom returned to the breakroom. Nick, Warrick, and Sara looked up at him nervously, as if waiting for an explosion. He paused in the doorway and looked at each of them in turn.

"I've suspended Catherine. For the rest of the week." A small murmur of surprise. "I trust I won't have to go through this...or suspend...any of you?"

"No, sir," they responded, nearly in chorus.

"Good." He sighed and his shoulders slumped. "You have no idea how much I hate this personnel/ disciplinary/ supervisor bullshit. I just want to be a scientist. A CSI."

"Sorry, Gris," Warrick said quietly, and Grissom gave him the ghost of a smile.

"All right then. We're going to be short-handed, so let's get to it. Dead guy at the Rampart, in a service corridor. Sara, grab Greg?"

"You got it."

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**GRISSOM VS. THE DOMINATRIX**

**CHAPTER NINE**

Without Catherine's disrespectful attitude and caustic comments, the team regained its professionalism at least and worked the scene in harmony. They seemed subdued, Grissom thought, and he wondered if how much of their renewed respect was solely due to fear of the boss.

It burned and stung to crouch, kneel, stretch, and go through the motions of processing a scene as Grissom's whip marks reopened and bled. He bit back the sounds of pain and did his best to act normal. _It's all I need for them to notice those wounds!_ The shame laid heavily on his heart.

Once in a while he felt them glance at him, wondering about his sexual preferences no doubt, and each felt like a sting of disapproval. In turn he stole glances at Sara. She seemed to be avoiding eye contact and conversation beyond the bare necessities of their tasks. He wondered how to address the subject of Lady Heather. Or if it was better buried. Wondered how to regain her respect, and more, her trust.

Nick, well, that hero worship he had was bound to erode at some point. Greg seemed to find amusement in the whole situation, but he was careful not to make his wisecracks within hearing. And the others didn't seem to find them funny, so eventually he gave up. Warrick was probably the most tolerant of this portion of the team. That was confirmed when they were documenting blood spatter and doing a crime scene sketch, respectively, and the others were busy elsewhere.

"Hey, Gris," Warrick said quietly.

"Yeah?" Grissom straightened to look at him, hearing the shift in his voice from work to personal.

"Cath was way out of line. She's one to talk, you know?"

A corner of Gil's lip twisted up. He nodded.

"I get it, I really do. You're a man...a man has needs...and however you choose to fulfill those needs...between consenting adults, of course...is cool."

Grissom nodded again. "Thanks, Warrick." The tension in the room eased and he felt better than he had all night.

They wrapped up the scene after long hours and returned to the lab in two vehicles, reassembling in the conference room to decide the next steps. The tension remained between Sara and Grissom, a heaviness and a bad taste in their mouths. Grissom sent Warrick and Greg with Nick to follow up evidence in different labs. When Sara stood up as well, he cleared his throat. He was just about to speak when Ecklie made an unwelcome entrance.

"Gil! I understand you suspended Willows?" he demanded without preamble.

Grissom rolled his eyes at Sara, who smirked back and pretended to study the file in front of her. _This should be good._

"That's right, Conrad." He gave an exaggerated sigh.

"And why was that?"

"She was disrespectful and insubordinate, and needs some time to adjust her attitude," Grissom told the lab director, consciously echoing Ecklie's stated reasons for suspending Sara on the Melton case. Sara recognized the reference and hid another smirk, which made Grissom's heart lighten.

"Care to elaborate?"

"I do not."

Ecklie waited, but when the silence stretched out, he bustled out, saying over his shoulder, "Well, it's about time you grew a spine in regards to CSI Willows."

Grissom and Sara shared a surprised look. Encouraged, he was about to speak, to attempt to clear the air (though he still had no clue how to) when she stood, gathered her papers, made some nervous comment about getting back to work, and exited before he made a peep. Grissom shook his head. _I wish she'd quit doing that. Leave before I can say a word. It's too soon, anyway, _he rationalized._ Too raw._ _Like my ass and thighs!_

He went back to work.

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

**GRISSOM VS. THE DOMINATRIX**

**CHAPTER TEN**

At the beginning of the next shift, the team caught a break on the case at the Rampart. In the hallway, Sara approached Grissom.

"Hey. You, um, seem to have this case in hand. Okay if I work on that one–the two, rather–from Tuesday?"

"Sure," he said warmly, grateful to have her meet his eyes without reproach.

"And borrow Greg?" Sara added.

"Good idea."

She turned to go.

"Oh, and Sara?"

"Yeah?" Her head turned.

"I don't tell you enough. But, uh, you do good work. Great work."

She flashed him a smile and it did his sore heart good. "Thanks."

"And Greg...would still be a lab rat, not a promising CSI, if it weren't for you."

A full grin. "I'll tell him that. See you...later?"

Grissom returned her smile shyly. "Keep me posted, Sara. If you need any help..."

"I'll ask. Thanks." Walking away, she turned back to look and pursed her lips in that adorable way at his pleased expression.

His good mood lasted until he returned to his office. And found Lady Heather waiting for him.

Grissom groaned inwardly. _What are YOU doing here?_

"Heather. This is a...surprise. What can I do for you?"

"Gil, I need your help. My daughter Zoe is missing and I'm worried for her safety."

Heather continued, explaining about the therapist who had seduced the young Harvard student, gotten her pregnant, and that the last time they had spoken Zoe said she was dropping out of school to have the baby. Grissom tried to be sympathetic and ease her out the door simultaneously.

"I don't know what I can do, Heather. This is a case for the police, the Missing Persons Unit. You should talk to Captain Brass..."

"Captain Brass despises me."

"Nevertheless, a CSI in Las Vegas is in no position to locate a student in Massachusetts, you understand," he pleaded.

Sara breezed in, looking at a folder in her hands. _Oh God no._

"Gris? Did you see this...?" She looked up and stopped. "Oh! I didn't know you had..."

Her eyes narrowed, examining this visitor as if she was a murder weapon, "...company." The last word had an overtone of disdain.

Lady Heather was looking Sara over as well. Grissom looked from one to the other, at a loss.

Heather stepped forward and extended her hand. "Heather Kessler. Are you Sara Sidle?"

Sara shook hands limply, looking confused. "I am. Heather...Lady Heather?"

"That's right."

Sara squared her shoulders. If she'd had hackles, they would be up. "And you know my name because...?"

"Because Gil," she waved a manicured hand in his direction, "told me a great deal about you."

Sara settled in a chair and glared at Grissom. "Did he now. Share?"

"Sara...Heather..." he stuttered awkwardly.

"We've met." Sara's tone was no-nonsense.

"This isn't the time or the place," he began desperately.

"Oh, I think it is both, wouldn't you say, Heather?" The women exchanged a look. Heather crossed the room and closed and locked the door, then returned to stand behind Sara. Both of them looked at Grissom expectantly.

Grissom couldn't have spoken if he tried. His mouth was parched. He looked over his desk and grabbed a mug half-filled with cold coffee and swallowed it, his mind racing.

When he met Heather's eyes again, she spoke. "Have you told her?" Grissom shook his head.

"Told me what?"

"Have you done...or said...anything...that we talked about?"

"She knows...I went to see you..." He extended his scarred wrists and glared at Heather.

"Does she know what you did...what we did...there?"

"Heather. No. Please!"

"When were you planning to tell her?"

"I'm sitting right here," Sara said, annoyed. She fixed Grissom with a cold stare. "Tell _me. _Now."

Grissom sank into his chair and rubbed his beard. Sara was at eye level and Heather looked at him steadily, lined up over Sara's head.

"Speak now or forever hold your peace, Grissom," Heather told him. He felt pinned like one of his mounted butterflies.

_What the hell._ _Here goes nothing._ "I did go to see Heather, Sara. I did so...because...I wanted, no, needed, to talk about you...about us."

"What about...us?" Her tone was less harsh.

"About how badly I've treated you. How I've...led you on...and how I've hurt you, Sara."

The atmosphere in the room softened slightly. Heather gave him an encouraging nod.

Sara gazed at him. "You did tell me that." She looked up at Heather. "He did."

"Good. And?"

"And that...I care about you Sara. I care about you a great deal," Grissom said in a rush, suddenly letting go. "I always have." The last was almost a whisper. Sara's eyes were wide. He extended his hand, palm up, across the desk. Wonder of wonders, Sara took it and linked their fingers together.

"I care about you too, Gris," she said softly.

He nodded and looked up at her shyly. Her hand was warm, the skin soft.

"Why couldn't you tell me...before now?"

"I don't know. Maybe because of Heather? Maybe because...because you terrify me."

A short huff of surprise. "Me?"

"You do. I can't seem to find the words before you..."

"Before I leave?" He nodded. "Why now?"

"I can't take it anymore. I'm tired of...fighting my feelings. Hating myself. The guilt, the effort to push you away, it's too much." He stood up and walked around his desk, still holding Sara's hand. "Heather? Would you excuse us? I'll...talk to you later, about that other matter."

Heather gave him a satisfied smirk and went to the door.

"Oh, and Lady Heather?" She looked back over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. "Um. Thank you."

**THE END**

A/N: As always, I have enjoyed your reviews, kind readers. Hope you send more. And tell me if you want the Epilogue I have in my head? Thank you. Really. ILoveJorja


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Wow, what a great reaction! Here, by popular request, is the (GSR!) Epilogue.

**GRISSOM VS. THE DOMINATRIX**

**EPILOGUE**

As soon as the door closed, Grissom tugged Sara to her feet and embraced her. She sank into his arms and molded herself against his solid bulk as she always knew she could. Grissom murmured apologies into her ear, his voice cracking. The relief, the rush of warmth seemed to flow like a river from his heart to his fingertips, making them tingle. He stroked her warm back and smelled her soft hair.

"Will you ever forgive me, Sara?"

"I might. Depends." Her voice was low, muffled in his chest.

Grissom pulled his head back and stroked a finger down her jaw. They looked in each other's eyes.

"Depends on what, dear?" he said tenderly.

The look in his eyes, the tone of his voice, the warmth and touch of his body, the endearment–Sara would have done nearly anything he asked, but a stubborn streak and a layer of hurt made her stiffen.

"Depends on how you treat me. My feelings. Depends on whether you go back in your shell or not. Play with me like a yo-yo. Where we go, what you do, from now on. Depends on a lot of things..."

He gave her a sad smile. "I'd like to treat the way you deserve, honey. I'd like to try. Show you that I have changed. I can't promise I won't make mistakes, Sara. But I can promise I won't go back–to the ass I've been all these years." That got him a tiny smile.

Grissom took a breath. "Sara?"

"Mmm?" she searched his eyes.

"Can I...Would you like to have dinner with me?"

A slow grin, widening, until it reached her eyes.

"I'd like that."

Grissom and Sara began to date. Between their demanding schedules, his caution, and her mistrust, it was not a speedy courtship. There was awkwardness and misunderstandings, but there was also tenderness, healing, and a deepening of their feelings and a blossoming relationship.

Three Months Later:

Sara invited Grissom to her apartment and made him dinner. They were feeling easy and comfortable with each other, feeling good, feeling fine. Little brushes of skin on skin, closeness, lingering looks, kept them feeling expectant. He poured her the last of the second bottle of wine, and they silently toasted each other and drank their glasses dry.

Sara stood, wobbled a bit, and held out her hand. Grissom took it and she led him to her small couch. They sat, leg pressed along leg and still holding hands. The air grew dense with sexual tension and nerves. They had kissed, even made out a little, but work had interrupted. Or Grissom had been a gentleman and excused himself before the point of no return. But this was a free Sunday and they both had off until late Monday night. Before dinner was even ready, both had shut off their phones. _This is it. This is the night, _he thought. _Should I make the first move? Or wait for him? _It grew a little awkward. Their palms were sweating.

Grissom released her hand and slowly stretched his arm along the back of the loveseat, feeling like a teenager boy again. His heart was pounding. Neither could speak. Sara turned to face him and gazed at him trustingly. He took courage in that and leaned forward, brushing his lips across hers. Sara swept her lips against his, a little stronger, reaching for his shoulder and bending her left knee across the cushion to face him. Grissom deepened the kiss, cupping her face with both hands. Sara made a tiny moan and their arousal was pushed up a notch. She dug her fingers in his curly hair and pulled his face in, devouring his mouth. He reciprocated. The kiss was incredible. Intoxicating. Both whimpered.

Grissom suddenly lunged forward, pushing Sara down on the couch. Her head banged against the corner of the armrest.

"Ow."

"Oh! Sorry."

"S'okay, come here."

Grissom shifted his big body to move between her legs. Sara's knee, trapped, poked into his groin. He jerked away and winced. She looked at him apologetically, and moved her long legs until they met the other end of the couch.

Gris moved his hands forward to brace himself and keep from crushing her slender form. One of his large hands landed on her hair and yanked her head to one side.

"Youch! Agh! Can you..."

"Damn, damn, so sorry, Sara." He moved and sat back, blushing bright red.

Sara started to giggle.

At first, he was offended. But then he looked in her laughing eyes and was charmed into joining her. They laughed and poked each other teasingly.

"You'd think I never had sex before," Sara said breathlessly.

"Huh! Me too." He smirked at her, his eyes dancing. "Then again, this couch is..."

"Microscopic."

He snorted. "I was going to say uncomfortable, but that will do."

"You know," her voice dropped an octave and became husky. "Last time I looked, there was a perfectly good bed, right behind that door."

"You don't say."

"I do say."

"Maybe...we should see if it's still there?"

"Great idea."

Once in the bedroom, it became awkward again. They stood a few paces apart, still fully clothed. Sara moved first, adjusting the blinds and turning on a single bedside lamp, which cast a soft yellow light. She stood and looked at the pattern on the wall. _This is it. What I've waited for, dreamed of. I'm going to make love with Grissom. Why can't I even look at him?_

"Hey." Grissom moved behind her and hugged her around the waist.

"Hey," she squeaked out.

"I don't know about you, but...I'm really nervous."

"You are? I...I am too." Her body relaxed slightly and she stroked his arms. "Wh...Why?"

"Because...I don't want to disappoint you, Sara."

"You won't. I might."

"No. You'll make my dreams come true. Let's...uh, take it slow?"

Sara turned around and kissed him. The kiss deepened naturally, easily, as they undressed each other. There were pauses as they drew back to breathe and feel and look at the newly revealed skin. When Sara was down to her bra and panties and Gil to his boxers, she broke away, tossed the covers aside and bounced on the bed, grinning at him. He joined her. They explored each other with eager mouths and fingers and lips and tongues. Sara stopped abruptly, drawing a shocked breath, when her hands dipped below his waistband and across his scarred buttocks.

"What...what happened to you?"

Grissom grunted and tried to pull away.

"No, wait...let me see..." She moved to examine him. "Jesus, Gris. Your legs too?"

He pursed his lips and looked ashamed.

"Tell me?"

"I don't...I can't..."

"Do you trust me?" He nodded. "Do you value–honesty, truth?"

"Of course," he said steadily.

"Tell me." A pause. "Heather...she did this?" He nodded. "Why?"

"To...punish me."

"For what?"

"You."

Sara gulped. "With what?"

"A cane."

"Her idea, or yours?"

"Mine. I, uh, paid her to."

Sara looked shocked. After a minute of hard thinking, she said shyly, "Uh. Do you, um, need me to...ugh...hit you or tie you...?"

"No!" Grissom said loudly, grabbing her hand. "No, honey. That was...a one-time...just an experiment. I'm not, I'm not into that."

Sara nodded, clearly relieved. "Good. 'Cause, you know, I couldn't let you..."

"Hit you?" Grissom looked aghast. "Hurt you? No, honey, I never would. And I never will."

"I just...I don't associate pain and violence with love...ever." He stroked her face with kindness. "My parents..."

"I know," he whispered. "I know. I want to please you, Sara. Give you pleasure, not pain. Never pain." She nodded, looking serious.

"All right. I want to give you pleasure as well. Uh? Help me understand? I know. Lie down. On your stomach."

He looked at her, puzzled.

"Please. Trust me."

He lay down, his head to one side, to watch her. Sara rustled through her bedside drawer. Grissom had a brief flashback to Lady Heather abusing his body, then replaced it with the present reality. Sara found a bottle of oil and poured a generous amount in her hands. Slowly she began to massage his neck, shoulders, down his arms and hands. Taking her time, squeezing and pressing and stroking. Grissom groaned and almost purred with pleasure, making her smile a happy Sidle smile. She worked her way down his muscled back, along his spine, ribs. When she got to the boxers, Sara poked him.

"These. Off." Grissom raised his hips. Together they pulled them down, over his erection, and down his legs. Sara put a hand tentatively underneath him and stroked him slowly and he hissed in through his teeth. She pushed his hips back into the mattress and began to massage every one of the whip marks.

"What's this one for?"

"Scoffing at you for being empathetic."

"What's this mark for?"

"Driving you to drink."

"Oh. What's this scar for?"

"Turning down your dinner invitation."

"Um hm. And this?"

"Getting jealous of Hank."

"Hm." She continued, rubbing the oil into his scars and letting him confront and confess all the scars he'd made on her heart. The honesty brought them closer. The love filled their hearts. The hidden pain was released and the desire built until their bodies thrummed.

Grissom rolled over at last and held his arms out. Warmed and slicked and ready, Sara climbed up along his body, straddled him, and sank down on his aching erection. They groaned and swore and moaned and moved. He rolled over and pounded into her until they both let go.

Midnight came and went and they were still making love. Morning came and the love dance began again. They were together. They were in love. They were happy.

**THE END**

**(for real)**


End file.
